


It's the little things

by megamegaturtle



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Drabbles, micro stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles (mostly butterfly bog).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way You Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I've seen the way you look at me." butterfly bog.

As Marianne aged, she realized that being the Crown Princess, while a powerful position that could bring change, also meant there would be useless chatter.  No court life would be complete without saying words that held no meaning to fill the void of  _something._  Being idle in court was almost synonymous with death so people would pretend to talk about the weather, the flowers, rumors of rumors of rumors. Because if they didn’t talk, what was their purpose? Talking meant being heard and being heard meant being validated and validation was the only thing that people wanted. 

Yet, she learned, if you listened to the chatter long enough, you tried to make it mean  _something_ –because the thought of that talking being pointless and a waste of time seemed pitiful.  And if you thought that the useless chatter was indeed pointless then you too couldn’t be validated. That was how lies wormed its way into the heart of the court. So, things like a Queen needed a King to rule became true. Things like Marianne needed Roland to be complete became truth.

But with Bog, things were different. Every word had meaning and every silence had meaning too. Being quiet with Bog didn’t mean social suicide, it just meant that they were comfortable with each other.  

Being with Bog meant she had meaning by virtue of just being herself.

Being with Bog meant she was  _something_  because she existed–not that she existed to be  _something_. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” she teased one evening as they watched the moon break the horizon. They were seated upon a tall tree in the Dark Forest. 

“Oh? And what kind of look is that, Tough Girl?” There was a small smile tugging at his lips. 

She laid back, the moon rising higher and higher in the sky. She thought a moment, but the answer came easily. 

“It says all the things you don’t say.”

He laid back too, enjoying the sight of the stars starting to peek through the dark velvet sky, “Are they good things?”

Grabbing his hand, she brought it to her lips to press a kiss.

“Of course. Sometimes the best things are things we never have to say at all.”


	2. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: major character death. prompt: "you lied to me". butterfly bog.

“You lied to me.”

Bog’s voice was low and flat, but even in the cold morning air, he could see the puffs of his breath. Yet as he waited for her to reply, he knew that she wouldn’t. She hadn’t responded to that statement the last time that he said it or the even the time before that. Or even the time before that.

The silence only thickened as the moments grew longer.

“You lied to me, Marianne,” he said once more standing tall and intimidating, but she didn’t say anything.

And silence was unusual for them as he couldn’t help but think back to how they first met.  _We met at the Elf Festival, love_  she would say to him, but he remembered their second meeting better. She was a gusty fairy who broke through his glass ceiling, screaming like a banshee, demanding for her sister. That very first fight, she yelled and taunted him, the words  _I don’t know, I was expecting more_  becoming a phrase to ring in his ears for years to come. It was lively and intense.

Nothing like the idle moment of now.

“You lied to me,” he stressed urgently, his arms rigid at his sides.

Urgently–like now–reminding him how desperately he wanted to spend time with her when they first started courting. Every second together providing the air he didn’t realize he needed to breathe. Urgently–like quick–like the races they would have under the moonlight, betting each other who would win. Urgently–going back to desperately–desperately how afraid he felt that everything would crumble in a second, his heart twisting itself into knots, tighter and tighter until he felt like he was going to die.

“Can’t you say anything?” He wanted to shout, but he promised to never raise his voice at her.

_It’s different when we’re sparring. When we fight, let’s just talk it out, okay? I don’t want us to ever have miscommunication. I promise not to raise my voice too._

But she didn’t and he knew that she wouldn’t. The silence sending him back to dark nights when they would lie next each other after making love, when he would gently trace every inch of her skin with his claw. She would do the same with her short nails, lulling him to sleep as she nestled under his sharp chin. There would be such peace in silence like that.

But this silence was anything but peaceful. It was angry and loud and suffocating.

Crushing the primrose petals in his hand, he asked, “Why did you lie to me?”

And as he felt the petals become sticky in his rough hand, he let a small dry laugh. These damn flowers that used to be such a bane in his existence ending up become an everlasting joke between the two.

 _It can be our flower_ , she joked one spring afternoon.  _Like how we sometimes say “I hate you” but mean “I love you.” These can just be another way to say “I hate you”_. At the time, they doubled over laughing at how absurd and perfectly ironic that primroses would be a symbol of their love.

“Why did you lie to me, Tough Girl?”

As clear a summer’s day, he could hear her say I  _love you, Bog. I’ll always love you. Forever._  But she didn’t.

His heart lodged itself in this throat, his admission thick with emotion, “You lied to me, Marianne…”

_I love you, Bog. So much sometimes it hurts._

Kneeling to the ground, a sob escaped him, “I know, love. I know. But you lied to me, Tough Girl…”  

_When I was a little girl, I used to wish that one I could become immortal–that way I could live forever with the man that I love._

_But even though we can’t be immortal, I’m yours forever. Don’t ever that doubt._

“You broke your promise, Marianne. There is no forever…because, because–”

Because fairies didn’t live as long as goblins.

He laid the crushed petals on her cold grave, he choked out as tears ran down his face, “You lied to me, Marianne…” 


	3. Now or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a story based on the song "The Man Who Can't Be Moved". butterfly bog.

She took a deep breath. Now or never, right?

It had been a week since she last saw the Bog King, but Marianne needed some time to herself. She had some things she need work through before she could move forward.

 _Falling in love is easy_ , she realized. _Understanding what that love meant was something else._

The sun had set about an hour ago, but it was no longer the time to be fluttering back and forth with indecision. She knew she had a choice in this matter and she had made it.

That’s why she had come after all, right?

Yes.

Taking a second deep breath, she walked into the new castle in the Dark Forest, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not even a guard or two at the entrance, but that didn’t stop her from walking inside. As the shadows began to become larger on the walls, Marianne walked forth to what seemed to be a throne room. There was a large enough door for there to be a throne room. She walked slowly trying not to make a peep because who knew what would happened if someone saw her. Well, she didn’t know. They were goblins after all. Bog was different though. 

Well, she hoped that he was really different. She didn’t really  _know_ him and that was a problem.

_How do you fall in love with a stranger? Like seriously, who cares if you’re like totally compatible kindred spirits and he’s really brave and he treats you like a person and–_

She was halfway to the large doors when she heard voices echoing from one of the random hallways. 

“Do you think the king will be happy if I gave him a button-neer tomorrow?” said a nasally but whiny voice. 

“It’s a boutonniere!” corrected a deeper one. 

But Marianne didn’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation as she flew towards the doors, threw them open, and tried to close the door as quickly, but quietly as possibly behind her.  _Goblins are still scary,_ she thought lamely. Sighing as she leaned her forehead against the wood, she gathered her courage and turned around to see…

…an empty throne room.  

She threw her hands up in the air, cursing the fates for how terribly this was all going. “Ugh. I just feel so stupid,” she muttered to herself. “Why didn’t we make plans to meet again? Did I–did I maybe wait too long?”

She began pacing around the large room, walking in circles similar to the same pattern her thoughts were going, in loops.

“I can’t just leave…” she mumbled as she ran a hand through her hair.

Goodness, things were much easier when she swore off love!

Though her musing of when and what were easier where interrupted when she heard the door shut. She snapped around to see the one person and all her thoughts died instantly, but all the fears sprang forth. The breath hitched in her chest.

There stood the Bog King with what she assumed to be a similar look: shock. His jaw hung open and his eyes were open–much like hers. But as the second ticked by, he continued to stand there looking dumbfounded. The moments were growing too long though, making her nervous and uneasy. 

“You have terrible security!” she blurted out, but then she mentally kicked herself.  _Smooth, Marianne. Real smooth_. 

Her stupid observation seemed to knock him back to reality though as he straightened himself and started walking towards her, but he made sure there was still a respectable distance between the two of them. “Oh? I guess I’ll have to fix that.”  

She felt herself sheepishly grin–goodness did she have terrible smiles–but she added, “Yeah. Thought you would like to know.”

Bog cleared his throat as he laced his fingers together, “Um. Is that the only thing you wanted to me to know?” His eyes darted around to the room, refusing to look at her face. 

Marianne gripped the handle of sword, her knuckles going white. “Yes. Of course!” She rushed, but she slapped herself in the face when she saw his face fall. “Wait, no. Ugh. I’m so  _bad_  at this!” she groaned as she threw her hands in the air for the second time and paced around the room again.

Though she couldn’t see him, she heard him mumble, “Well–it’s…it’s good to see you, you know, again…” he trailed. 

Marianne’s heart skipped a beat and she felt her stomach flip. She totally forgot that these were a thing, but the giddiness that was growing inside her refused to stop.

She turned around slowly, feeling her face heat up, and whispered, “Really?”

His face was displaying a million emotions at once, she noticed–none that she knew how to decipher yet.  _Yet_  being the keyword. 

But after a few moments, he composed himself and nodded. With a shy smile, he answered, “Yes.”

She felt a shy smile also come onto her face, but she found enough courage to ask, “Can we talk?”

His smile grew a bit bolder as he held out his hand towards her, “That sounds perfect.” Once her hand was in his, he added cheekily, “…Tough Girl.”


	4. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I think I’m falling in love with you and I’m terrified.” butterfly bog.

Bog was avoiding her and she no idea why. **  
**

At first she didn’t notice it– _I have some extra meetings this week, Marianne._  Having meetings was normal for a king, she mused and thought nothing more of it. _Let’s just have a quick spar tonight, Tough Girl._   _I don’t want you staying out too late._  And at the time, she agreed. She knew better than to stay out too late when bats were migrating south.

Then he said _I can’t see you today or tomorrow or even the day after next, Marianne. I’ll call on you._  And he looked so apologetic, his entire being deflating with each word uttered, curling in on himself as if awaiting punishment. But this was Marianne and she was understanding. Affirming it was nothing, she smoothed her hands over his rough cheeks and gave him a gentle kiss. The promise _I’ll be waiting_  ghosted over his lips.

And she still kept her promise three weeks later as she zipped across the Light Fields like a violet blur into Dark Forest territory. She was waiting all right, she thought bitterly, tired of waiting. Three weeks with no letter or explanation provided more than enough motivation for her reach his castle in record time.

It was also long enough to stew anger until it was burning hot, marring her features into a fierce scowl. She felt drunk off indignation and rage, but as she landed at the entrance, she doubted anything would sober her mood.

The first one to greet her though wasn’t a guard like Brutus or a servant like Stuff or Thang, but instead his mother.

“Marianne,” Griselda gasped, dropping a basket at her feet, “what are you doing here? My boy called on you?”

Though her smile was tight, she tried her best when she went to give the older goblin a hug. “No, that’s why I’m here,” she said evenly.

Griselda pulled back, her smile tentative and her eyes sad, “Try to be understanding when you speak with him.” With one last pinch to her cheek and letting her know that Bog was in his study, the older woman disappeared down a corridor.

Understanding? Wasn’t waiting three weeks understanding enough? But as she walked towards the study, all the anger that fueled her on the flight over slowly drained away and was hastily being replace by something too familiar for comfort. Her heart constricted in her chest and all the scathing words she rehearsed and memorized fell away from her thoughts, leaving the only seed left to bloom.

_What if he doesn’t want me anymore?_

The thought smacked her soundly as she came upon the door, her hand in mid-reach to grab the handle.  _What if he doesn’t want me anymore_ echoed again reminding her of a time when a self-conscious bride-to-be asked, “Do you think Roland loves me as much as I love him?” Though, that question would only matter now if…

_…if she was in love with Bog._

In the moment that realization struck her, Marianne was positive she could hear her heart crack–torn between shattering into something unfixable, irreparable and wanting nothing more than to welcome the newfound warmth to flood her soul.

It was  _torturous_. In what should have been a moment of excitement and celebration was only marred by lack of communication.  _What if he doesn’t want me anymore_  ringing loud and clear despite her own affections trying to sing in her heart. Because she remembered how it felt to love someone who didn’t love her back, the sight of a kiss that wasn’t hers clawing free from its grave.  

“ _Oh skies_ ,” she choked out as she clasped a hand over her mouth. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. This wasn’t supposed to happen with _him_. Because they trusted each other, they understood each other, they were honest with each other.

Right?

Yet what trust and understanding could there be if one was dormant for so long?

A shuddering sob racked through her body, but she refused to allow tears to fall. “Oh skies,” she muttered again. “I need–I need to leave…” her voice barely above a whisper.

“…Marianne?”

She whipped around startled, her hand instinctively on her sword, her expression still open and raw. The prideful part screaming  _Don’t look at me, don’t look at me._

But for a less than a moment she couldn’t mask her feelings, she couldn’t hide them as Bog stood there mere feet away, looking surprised to see her there, almost questioning if she was even real. Blue eyes as rich as the sky above, always gentle and kind, staring at her like she wasn’t meant to be there.

Because he hadn’t called on her.  _Oh skies. It’s happening again._

Despite that her heart was cracked, it still pounded erratically in her chest, each beat painful and agonizing. A moment more though was all anger needed as it sank its fangs in her veins, pumping her with rightful mock fury. She could feign this. She could fake this. This happened before and she could do it again. _What do you get when you give your heart? You get it all broken up and battered, remember?_

She tore her eyes away from his and schooled her face into a neutral expression.  _Don’t let him see, don’t let him see._

“Marianne?”

She heard him shuffle closer towards her, but she raised her hand. She swallowed away the thick emotion that clung to her throat and met his gaze again, “It’s nothing. I’m leaving.”

His brows shot up, “You’re leaving? But you–I haven’t–”

She shook her head, realizing hearing his voice was only forcing her heart to split further into two. She needed to get out of here. Being near him suffocated her and she needed to run–fly away somewhere where no one could ever catch up to her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Marianne whispered, “Just stop talking. Please.” Taking a deep breath, she opened them only to discover his face painted in pain, but she didn’t care. “I can’t do this, Bog.”

Her words caught his attention though, his eyes growing wide and his hand outstretched to reach for her, “What do you mean–?”

Yet as his fingertips were mere millimeters from her hand, she smacked his hand away. She couldn’t do this anymore she felt so exposed and vulnerable– _weak, you feel weak_. Enough was enough.

_Wise men say only fools rush in._

“Whatever this is, Bog. Whatever you’re not saying…I got the hint,” she said. She felt heavy with exhaustion suddenly, her being too overwhelmed to process all the emotions, but she needed to remain strong.  _Don’t let him see._  “Nothing is worth this.”

The plates on his shoulders rattled, his wings buzzed haphazardly behind him, “This isn’t worth it?”

Anger, Marianne realized, she could still cling to anger. Voice sharp, she snarled, “Oh, stop pretending  _Bog King_!” Yes, anger coursed again in her blood, propelling her forward. “If you don’t want me anymore, just say it! _This_ ,” she spat out like poison, “isn’t worth it.”

However, this time at her words, Bog stilled, his wings silent. Marianne was waiting for him to make an excuse, but no words came. With gritted teeth, he smacked himself on his forehead, dragging his hand down his face, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

But Marianne didn’t have time to agree with him as he swiftly stood tall and nudged her towards his study. As he opened the door, he said flatly, “Come with me.”

At first, she tried to protest, but she was already between him and the door. Heaving a sigh, Marianne didn’t say anything and walked into the study. Oh skies, she just wanted to get this over with.

He gestured for her to sit down in his chair, much smaller than his throne, but still far too big for someone like a petite fairy. While she sat there, Bog hurried around the room, grabbing parchment after parchment, collecting an impressive amount in his long wiry arms. After a few minutes, he placed them on the desk in front of her.

“What are these?” she asked, trying to fight the curiosity in her voice. However, he only motioned for her to take one, his face grim, but his eyes were hopeful.

Slowly, she reached for the pile and grabbed one that was atop and tied with a string. Rolling it open, she read:

_Dearest Marianne,_

_I said I would call upon you. So now I’m calling upon you. To see you–and speak with you about things. Not bad things! Good things! Great things!_

_This is terrible. I’m not sending her this. I don’t know why I’m even still writing._

_Note to self: don’t talk to yourself on anymore future letters to Marianne._

She furrowed her brows in confusion. “What are these?” she asked again.

With a small smile that didn’t reach his blue eyes, he replied, “Attempts. Many attempts. Three weeks worth of attempts.”

She scanned the pile of papers in front of her. Some were rolled, some were just pieces of paper and others were in envelopes. She glanced back at him where he stood arm’s length away, and asked, “Why couldn’t you send one?”

He hunched his back–he did that when he was nervous–and laced his fingers on his chest. In a shaky voice, he answered, “I was scared.”

She met his eyes again though and glared at him, hoping that he would feel a burn,  “Everyone’s scared, Bog,” she snapped. “I’m scared. You made me scared.”

He looked away with shame, “I know. And I’m sorry, Marianne.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she slumped back in the chair. Today was too much. All of this is too much. “Why?” She prompted, “Why were you scared?”

Bog came closer this time, more shy than any time before, but she didn’t turn him away. Tenderly, he framed her face in his rough hands, rubbing the coarse pads of his thumbs across her cheeks. “I’ve know for a while,” he began with a gentle smile. “I’ve know for a while that I was falling for you.”

Looking up at him, as his fingers were kind against her skin, her breath hitched. Her heart throbbed in her chest, aching to be soothed.

With an intake of breath, his face flushed, “What I didn’t know until recently was that I was falling in love with you–that I’m already in love with you.”

And as if a cool balm, his words pacified her soul and seeing the sincerity in his eyes healed her heart. Her eyes felt watery.

“Oh,” she squeaked out, “It’s just that?” 

His eyes were watery too, she noticed as he brought her up into a tight embrace. “Yes, it’s just that,” he whispered against her hair, “And there are not enough words to even explain how sorry I am.” He took a deep breath, his voice thick as he continued, “Because Marianne you’re the only one I’d ever want and I am so sorry for being terrified.” 

_You’re the only one I’d ever want._

_I’m already in love with you._  

Her heart leaped into her throat, overflowing with emotion, “Apology accepted, you big idiot.” 

He squeezed her tighter against him and pressed his lips against her hair, “Does this mean that you’ll still have me?”

And for the first time in weeks, Marianne felt at peace. As relief flooded her soul, she sagged against him, “I’ll always have you. Always.” 

_I love you._


	5. carnations & chrysanthemums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn and Marianne spend some time together.

The sun is already high in the sky when violet and pink wings zip through the Light Fields. 

“Looks like I’m going to be the champion again, Dawn!” Marianne shouts over her shoulder, her brown locks out of her eyes for once. 

“Not today, sis!” she hollers back as she speeds up to her older sister. “Today I will be victorious!” 

Marianne smirks and lets out a laugh, the sound bold and loud as it rings throughout the fields. “We’ll see,” she teases. 

They go over and under daisies and daffodils and zigzag through lavender and lilacs. They walk atop sunflowers and skip over tulips, laughing and giggling as they try to best each other. 

Yet finally they reach their destination, slightly winded, but no worse for wear. Gentle fairy wings help them glide easily down, landing lightly on their feet. Pink light fillers in the grove from the tall carnation petals overhead. Dawn hums a tune that Marianne can’t quiet place, but besides that, the grove is silent. 

After a few moments, Marianne gestures for her sister to follow, still smiling as humming has turned into soft singing, “Are you ready?”

They are walking side by side now, only their footsteps echoing throughout the grove and at the question, the humming stops. Marianne side glances towards her sister to see her chewing her lip nervously. She looks like she is wresting with a question, but doesn’t know how to ask. But instead of waiting–which she will never do–Dawn blurts out–

“What color were Mom’s wings?”

Marianne stops walking abruptly and Dawn pauses, the silence of the grove becoming louder and louder around them. But for a moment, Marianne is no longer with her sister, but instead she’s transported to a time where fairy wings fluttered before her, invisible if you didn’t look just right. 

  _Let us fly, my darling_. 

“They were,” she starts, her voice thick with emotion, “the exact same color of the sky and the sun. So bright blue and gold you’d lose her if you didn’t watch her closely.” 

_And your wings are the same colors of twilight, when the Moon and Sun kiss each other good night._

Dawn reaches for her hand and laces fingers with her. “What else?”

By now they are walking again, “They were softest wings you ever felt–like they were spider silk.”

_When you’re older, I’ll show you all my beauty secrets. Like my mother told me._

“And?”

Marianne smiles again, but this time it is somber, her heart aching. She pulls her sister to face her and brushes the hair out of her eyes, “Sometimes you look so much like her that it’s breathtaking.” 

_And you both look like me._

But her sister lip’s quivers and her large blue eyes become shiny, “I don’t know if I’m ready…” Dawn buries her face the crook of her neck. 

Her eyes feel damp too, “That’s why we’re going together.”

_Because remember, my loves, sisters are forever._

“Because that’s what we do, right?” she mumbled against her skin. 

Marianne smooths her sister’s hair, stroking her gently as she hold her in her arms, “Yes, because that’s we do.” 

She can feel her smile against her neck and Dawn let’s out a puff of air when she pulls back, wiping her eyes. Her eyes are a bit red, but her face is bright, “I’m ready now. We have so much to tell her.”

And Marianne just nods her head, matching her sister’s smile. Pulling her close, they being moving again, her heart is still aching, but it’s still beating. “That we do.” she says and starts to hum the tune that she couldn’t quiet place.

Dawn joins in too as they walk to their mother’s grave. 


	6. drizzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal Fairy Family wakes up to greet a new day.

It’s an early morning when two little girls stand outside the door to their parent’s bedroom, bribing the guards to be silent with sweet smiles. The elder one holds her baby sister’s hand in one hand as the other cracks open the door slowly, peeking inside to see her parents sleeping soundly.

Tiptoeing inside, the younger one starts to say, “Good–” but a hand clamps over her mouth as her big sister stares her down.

Little brown brows furrow together, shaking her head, mouthing, “Be quiet!”

Blue eyes go wide and she smiles against her sister’s hand as if she had epiphany. She nods her head in understanding, removing her sister’s hand, and proceeds to zip her lips shut, a childish promise of silence.

Once again, the two little girls inch their way closer to the bed, their yellow daffodil nightgowns barely touching the floor. Their father is snoring, loud and big, but besides that, the room is quiet. When they reach the foot of the bed, the older one helps her little sister unto the bed, her little baby wings not strong enough to carry her just yet, but the petals shift and she falls on the floor with a thud.

Their mother turns in her sleep, her long hair fanning against the pillow, as both girls stare at each other, their mouths wide open. Their daddy snores again, almost shaking the room, and the little girls smile big at each other, pressing their lips together, trying not to laugh. But of course, girls are girls, and they can’t help but giggle, louder than their daddy’s snores, louder the rainfall outside.

Their mother groans and sits up, rubbing her face in her hand, “Girls, is that you?”

Yet at the question, the younger one with sunshine hair like their mother, jumps on the bed, crawling quickly to curl beside her mother. "Morning, Mama!“

Her mother smiles sleepily, but big, “Good morning, my little princess.” She looks at her eldest daughter, opens her arm for a hug, “Good morning, Annie.”

Marianne smiles, happy and jumps too on the bed, but accidently waking her father with an oomph. “Hi Mommy, hi Daddy.”

“…good morning, dears,” their father mumbles under the pillow, turning on his side to sleep a bit more.

Marianne snuggles up close to her little sister and her mother rubs her arm, “Mommy, can we play outside today? Dawn wants to dance in the rain!”

“I do, I do, I do!”

Their mother laughs and stares outside the window, humming as she thinks of what to say. Looking at her daughters, they smile sweeter than they did at the guards and pepper her kisses, hugging her close, begging.

“Please, oh please, oh please,” Dawn says, holding on to her mother for dear life.

“Please Mommy?” Marianne adds, pouting her lip a bit, starting up at her mother with big brown eyes.

And for a moment, her mother taps her chin, pressing her lips together as if she’d say no. Yet she grins and pulls both her girls close, kissing the tops of heads and tickling their sides.

“Well, only if I get to come too!”


	7. directions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Accidentally fell in your lap while standing on this crowded bus”

It’s the afternoon rush-hour as he manages to snag the last seat on the coach, his feet too achy to stand today.Thankfully, it’s the aisle seat as his legs are too long to actually fit comfortably near the window.

The bus lurches forward as it begins to accelerate when leaving the stop. It feels like the first time in a long while, Bog is counting his blessings this week instead of cursing the gods above.  _If only my transmission wasn’t flooded, I could have already finished my errands and be back home_  he thinks to himself, but he knows that it does no use. For the time being, he just needs to survive without his car. He survives just about anything else life throws his way, he can survive taking public transportation too. 

Leaning back in his seat, he decides to relax, attempting to find peace in the bumpy ride towards the city’s center. As usual, there is not much chatter on the ride, the other passengers are busying themselves with their cellphones or reading a book, but Bog does neither. The little old lady besides him knits and he can’t help but look over the top her head, staring at the terrace houses they go pass. 

Like the bus ride, his life is quiet, things blurring together not meaning much, just fragments he sees from his day to day. If he had to name it, mundane would be a good descriptor. Just brown and boring, like the brick houses he keeps seeing.   

The bus stops again, pausing as passengers exit and enter, muttering exchanges of goodbyes and hellos to the driver. There’s not enough sits again he notices and people start to line the aisle, gripping the handholds from the ceiling. 

“Excuse me,” he hears someone say softly as they come to stand next by his seat. 

Looking up–which isn’t much because he’s so tall and she’s so small–he pauses, words dying on this tongue. 

He wants to take back the words that brown is boring because looking down at him are the most beautiful brown eyes he’s ever seen. They’re like whiskey swirling in a tumbler before he sips it, biting and burning him his skin where they look, as if he’s slowly swallowing them now. Or they’re like warm honey, sweet and expressive, soothing him as if a healing balm as the comer of her eyes crinkle at his expression. Or he thinks, as he sits here gaping at her, that they’re like the amber he used to play with as a child, holding the stone up to the sun, seeing it glow like a small fire. 

“Sir?” she prompts again and he notices that her accent isn’t Scottish. Maybe American?

Clearing his throat, he blinks, trying not to flush, “Sorry. It’s, uh, been a long day.”

She laughs and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, “Tell me about it.”

But as most bus rides go, silence falls between them as they continue towards their destinations. In this moment, Bog wishes he was good at small talk, but knows that staying quiet keeps his foot out of his mouth. 

“Oh, um,” she starts. “If it isn’t too much to ask, can I get some directions?”

He looks up at her a second time, feeling his heart beat a little faster. “Of course.” Angling towards her, he asks, “Where are you headed?” 

She smiles again, her face so open in thanks. “You are a life saver,” she breathes, letting out a sigh of relief, clutching a hand to her heart. “Give me a second, kay?” 

Digging through her purse, he guesses that she’s looking for the address. She mutters to herself, digging through the deep bag, needing to let go of the handhold to get a better look. 

It is that moment though the bus decides to do a sharp turn, swaying the everyone to the right. He braces himself so that he doesn’t bother the old woman besides him with his weight, but what he didn’t brace himself for was the young woman standing to his left. 

She lands right in his lap, smelling like lilacs and jumps back up as quickly as she fell.

“I am so sorry!” she exclaims, her face bright like spring beets.

He can feel his lips curving into a smile, a rare occurrence if any, but he doesn’t mind. “It’s no problem.” 

She grips the handhold tightly now, her wondrous eyes too shy to make contact for a moment, but finally meet his gaze. “Um…about those directions?”

“Yeah,” he starts. “I can take you where you need to go if it’s down this way?” he offers.

She grins, small and tentative, “That would be wonderful.” Sticking out her hand, she adds, “I’m Marianne.” 

For the second time that day, he finds himself counting his blessings as he takes her hand, feeling his smile become wider, “And I’m Bog.”

Maybe taking the bus wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 


	8. moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the ones that sneak up on us when we're not looking

It’s late at night when moonlight pools in her bedroom. The silver light freezes time, the constant ticking of eternity’s clock ceasing causing the only resounding tocking to be her heartbeat. 

She tosses and turns in her sheets, promising herself that she would sleep before reading the letter again, but sweet comfort from seeing his scrawl is too much of an allure. 

She springs to her feet and grabs the letter that rests on her vanity. Dashing back to bed, she giggles as she gets under the covers again. She received it this afternoon and she’s read it dozens of times since, but she can’t help the peace she feels when she reads:

_To my dearest Marianne,_

_I wish that I could write a thousand words that will convey what I feel, but if I do that, I will delay what I want to say. Each second without you is dull and the moonlight is no longer as perfect._

_So, to put it simply, Marianne: can I see you soon?_

_I miss you very much._

_Yours,_

_Bog_ ,  _The Bog King_

As she drifts to sleep, she relishes in his yearning just a bit longer, promising to swiftly write him in the morning.

* * *

He never knew that he could feel this way, never knowing that somewhere out there that there was a hand to fit perfectly into his. He never knew that before her that there is a comfort in knowing, in realizing that someone loves you.

Yet now he knows and he still can’t thank his lucky stars enough because she’s tucked tightly to his side as they watch clouds drift by. The sun is warm and bright, but it lacks the heat her touch contains as she absentmindedly draws circles and figures on his chest. 

“This is addictive,” she whispers, her voice vibrating his plates.

He closes his eyes and snuggles her close, a humming his question.

“You’re addictive,” she corrects herself. 

The grass tickles him as he turns to look at her, an urge to see her hazel eyes boring into his. She’s so close that he can see the specks of gold and hints of black. 

“You are too,” he says pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

* * *

When she enters her father’s study, it reminds her of the day her mother passed away. It’s lifeless. But he’s staring so intently outside the window, his back rigid, his knuckles white at his side. 

He didn’t hear that her opening the door. 

She pauses for a second, before knocking a bit and asking, “Daddy?”

Her father whips around, his face free of his royal mask and he struggles between wearing the one of her king and the one of her father. After a few moments, his king’s mask stays intact, but it is her father who is looking at her.

He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, the words unable to come out it seems.

But Marianne is braver than that. She’s to be queen one day after all.

She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “Father,” she starts again, “what is it?”

Her father sighs, his shoulders sagging and he picks a letter off his desk. It rests in his hands for a few moments before he hands it to her. 

“Read this.” 

Tentatively, she grabs the letter and her eyes scan the page, cracking her heart the more words she reads. 

* * *

Moonlight pools in her room again, but the light no longer freezes time. Instead, it drags time sluggishly forward, each second adding pressure to her chest. 

She promised herself she wouldn’t read it again, but she can’t help it. She has to read, she needs to read. 

Ducking her hand under the cool side of the pillow, she retrieves a letter that has been folded and refolded again and again. The creases and divots slowly fading white, marring the once pristine parchment as if aged.

She tries to read each letter as carefully as she can, almost as if she missed a word in one of her previous thousand readings. The words have already imprinted themselves on her soul and her heart,  whispering that she’ll never forget them. 

 _To Princess Marianne_ , 

_We regret to inform you that the Bog King is dead._

_We send our condolences. We will have more news for you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_The High Royal Council of the Dark Forest_

She doesn’t cry anymore when she reads it.

Rolling over onto her back, she holds the letter over heart.

“What I wouldn’t do for one more moment with you…” she whispers to the darkness that can’t hear her. 


End file.
